How Far Outside the Lines?
by Protectress of Dalidon
Summary: How far would you go to find me' With a friend like Elizabeth, there is no such thing as unwelcome. With an adversary like Elizabeth, there is no second chance. Which lines have to be crossed when everything that matters is at stake? 'How far Dex' AU.


_A/N: I own nothing, I'm just playing, I'll put them back in the sandbox later, I promise!_

_Reviews are welcome, help always appreciated.  
_

* * *

The plane took off and it was only then the woman with highlighted brown hair that now barely touched her shoulder relaxed. She absentmindedly stroked her abdomen and closed her eyes, a small smile touching her lips. 

'You know,' the man next to her said, 'I still don't like this.' He was just taller than average height, his hair at a length where messy was a style statement.

'I know, but in a few hours we will be finished.' The woman didn't open her eyes.

'We're lucky she could figure out how to get you a passport you know.'

'John, stop worrying, really, we'll be fine. Although you will have to drive from the airport…' A moment of humour came and went, but still the dark haired man looked decidedly uncomfortable.

'Hopefully my car's still there.' He looked out the window at the clouds they were finally starting to reach. The woman at his side said nothing and her breathing slowed, steadied, fell into the pattern that sleep claimed as its own. For the first time since he started the horrendous journey from one side of America to the other, and half way back again, John Sheppard allowed himself to acknowledge just how he felt. Wrung out. Tired. Hunted. And he wasn't even meant to be doing any of the running…

o0o0o0o0o  
In the afternoon light, Elizabeth smiled as she started making the spare bed. Normally, all three beds were made, but as it was, she had worked late and was only just making the first spare. The cream sheet felt warm in her hand and she was glad she had chosen to hang it on the line instead of putting it in the dryer. There was something so much more welcoming about sun-kissed bed linen. And she very much wanted her guests to be welcome. She looked up then, noticing the shadows falling and the sunset kissing the surf not so far from her front yard. Her house had been chosen because of that view. If she went upstairs to her room and study, she could look out over the water as though nothing else surrounded her. Of course, her guests may or may not share her wonder at the view and so she had decided to set out the spare rooms. The last blanket landed with a soft thump and Elizabeth smiled to herself. It had been far too long since she had guests.

o0o0o0o0o  
The door opened in the silence that is never far from the abandoned. For a moment, the darkness hid the starkness of the apartment but once the lights were flicked on, nothing could disguise the unused rooms. In the doorway, the tall, muscled man paused, alert and waiting for the trap to shut. He had arrived expecting a warm smile to greet him, a voice so full of melody it inspired his musician heart… There was nothing and as he stepped carefully through the rest of the apartment, he discovered how much she had given to the place he thought of as home. All his things were still there, all in their proper place, but her knick knacks, the little things she'd acquired over the years they'd been together, they were gone. The neat bedroom broke the last restraints on grief and temper and the tall man folded to his knees and screamed. The next morning, the neighbours couldn't say if it had been a heartbroken man's anguish or a warrior's battle cry that had awoken them at 3am.

o0o0o0o0o  
John helped his travelling companion out of his car and looked up at the double story house. The lights were on and he smiled as he made his way to the front door. For a moment he hesitated, then he slipped the single silver key into the lock and turned. The door was held closed by his hand, no longer the lock, and he closed his eyes briefly. In the nightmares that had begun as the train rocked them, his key no longer opened that particular door.

'Hey,' he called, as though he'd been down the street and back. Footsteps on the wooden floor echoed in his heart as the owner of the house appeared around the corner of the hall.

'Come in, I've just started dinner.' The woman smiled, her mahogany hair gleaming in the soft lighting.

'You cooked?' John was more than surprised, and he heard it in his voice. It wasn't that he minded that she never cooked; it was one of those things he found amusing. She was so busy with work, so busy trying to save people from themselves, that she forgot about herself. Of course, that meant that her colleagues had cause to become friends and more often than not the house had more than three people at the dinner table.

'I couldn't let my old friend think I'd forgotten what she taught me.'

'You would not dare,' the other woman said, stepping into the light and welcoming house. 'I remember how many hours we spent cleaning the kitchen once things exploded.'

'That was only once,' Elizabeth said from the kitchen, 'and I remember the time you put the casserole in the dishwasher instead of the oven Teyla.'

'You did that?' John suddenly realised which friend of Elizabeth's he'd been playing escort to.

'Only because you were trying to tell me that I would fall in love with a very clever man.' Teyla, a hand in her short hair, stood at the island bench in the kitchen and watched as her friend cooked. They had shared moments like this so often over the years that it was almost enough to forget why she had decided to come to Canada in the first place.

'Wait, I thought-'

'So I was wrong, it happens.' Elizabeth shrugged and threw a reassuring look at John. There were times when she tended to get a bit over his head, especially with old friends.


End file.
